


Chapter Fifteen: Scour + Devour

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [16]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two, Transformers: Beast Machines, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Battlefield, Bromance, Engineers, Gen, Music, Other, Pink Alchemy, Plans, Primusdammit Whirl, Sidekicks, Snipers, Strategy & Tactics, Weapons Kink, Wrecker Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Liberation of Temptoria: A clue to finding the Cee-Oh-Ell, or a convenient distraction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Fifteen: Scour + Devour

Fingers into propane  
love is on a mission  
burning down a roadhouse  
leaving her initials  
—["Scour + Devour" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m--vt4I0dQI)by Spiral Beach, from _The Only Real Thing_  
  


The _Lost Light_  
Boarding the _Leading Light_  
Orbit of Temptoria  
two-hundred and fifteen cycles ago

Cavalier had the habit of playing music off her internal sound system. Her tastes ran in Earth tunes, and all over the board when it came to style. "Battle theme" could vary depending on her mood, the mission, and what she had been playing prior to the mission briefing.

Artemis, having spent over a decade with the Minibot, had for the sake of survival and sanity to give input on what would be considered inappropriate. And Europop was up there for "genres that should never be heard on a battle field."

Artemis put her foot down upon the first three bars. "You are not going into battle carrying a sniper rifle while blasting 'Caramelldansen'," the larger 'bot ordered.

"Leads 'Cons into a sense of confusion!" Cavalier argued; Tailgate, behind her, was resisting the urge to dance and failing.

"It'll lead us into a sense of confusion!" Artemis exclaimed. "No!"

Tailgate and Swerve were now struggling with giggles.

"Whirl, I swear to Primus if you're mocking me — " Artemis spun on her heel, catching Skids scrambling to act natural. Returning her attention to Cavalier, she snapped, "There's elements of Earth culture I had hoped wouldn't follow us; karaoke and DDR were two of them!"

"Please, DDR was so last decade. Fine, fine! No 'Caramelldansen'!" Cavalier willed her system to switch the track. Just as Artemis stepped to board the Leading Light, another, this time K-pop, opening queued up.

"No 'Gangnam Style'! In fact, nothing with 'pop' that can be used to describe said genre!" To Cavalier's fellow Minibots, Artemis jabbed an angry finger. "Primusdammit, stop encouraging her!"

"Boss lady doesn't appreciate irony," Cavalier grumbled, switching up her track once more. "Any complaints about my 'Brütal Legend' play list, or is that going to throw off your aim, too?"

"Why can't you internalise your music?" Artemis demanded.

Cavalier cocked her head. "It is internalised. Go loud or go home." The intro to Prong's "Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck" thrummed as the white and black Autobot loaded onto the ship, her sniper rifle slung over one shoulder and her kit laden with explosives over the other.

Artemis, with a sigh, shook her head and followed suit. "I don't know how she survived this long," she grumbled, marching through the milling mechs in the hold.

"Don't ask me," Skids, flanking her, shrugged. "The fact you haven't done the deed yourself speaks volumes of your self control."

The Wreckers may have been officially disbanded with the fall of Garrus-9 and the loss of Springer, but she kept the attitude of a squad leader: head-down, optics-forward. It had been the one affiliation she felt at home with, the one group that took her in and utilised her talents to her fullest. Might have earned some points with the higher-ups — the Senate was likely hoping she'd be in the fifty-eight (or sixty-two, depending on who one asked) percent fatality rate. Whenever operating in multi-squadron campaigns, she went in with the intention of raising that average. It also helped that she and Springer had a mutual respect and friendship, and she didn't mind taking orders from him.

The official disbandment broke many a spark; for many, the Wreckers were the last place for acceptance. On board the _Lost Light_ , Artemis believed that there was a home for those set to the winds.

Whirl was quick to fall in step behind her. "Rally the boys, boss?" He questioned, eagerness in his voice where his face was unable to express.

"Knock yourself out," she nodded. A shame she could not trust him; Roadbuster had informed her on the situation before she left on the _Lost Light_ , not because he knew they were going to be shipmates. She had made the last click decision to join the crew, catching the last call before the doors could close. Whirl was brought on board as a charity case because Tailgate accidentally blew him up. She had been apprehensive to allow him into her circle; they had shared tables, a couple of battles, and he latched onto her like a carrion eater to a predator. While unpredictable, he was also smart: he threw his chits in where he would have the best chance of survival.

Adding her voice into the chorus of primed warriors chanting battle cries, she took a seat between Skids and Trailcutter, pushing Serendipity aside for easy access to her flask, but with Magnus in close proximity, she fought the urge to take a nip; Trailcutter was in the same boat, as he crossed his arms in his own gesture of resistance.

"So, new guns?" Artemis initiated, nodding at the gun mounts on his shins.

"Purely defencive," he retorted.

"Gotta say, I admire those who can allot the space for on board weapons," Artemis crossed one leg over the other.

"If you weren't too concerned about saving space for bootlegging...." Hoist pointed out.

"It's a viable reason," she countered. "One never knows when we need to space to haul cargo. Besides, running out of conventionals, you've got dead weight. Run out of energy weapons, likely you're low on power yourself. Your friend's out of ammo? You can't toss them your arm very well to cover your back."

"Spoken like a melee fighter," Skids chuckled.

"Give me a shotgun and I'll show you melee fighting," she chortled.

"So why don't you get outfitted with on board guns?" Skids questioned.

She shrugged. "Never really sat down long enough to consider the options. And it's not like I don't have on board weapons. I got two perfectly good fists and, according to Ratchet, abnormally thick cranial plating." She glanced around, then made a "come hither" gesture to the three mechs in her vicinity. "You guys ever heard of crystek? It's a crystalline ore from the planet Master."

"Hound might have," Hoist suggested.

"Unbreakable and impossible to forge, if memory serves," Trailcutter added.

"What if you add Brainstorm to that equation?"

"Slighty less impossible to forge?" Skids guessed. His leg was bouncing, not because of excitement; the beat he kept was familiar.

"Do not make me break your legs before we get on the field," she snarled in his audio receptor.

"Five clicks and I'll learn your moves," Skids countered.

"Yeah, I've seen you 'learning' Dance Dance Revolution with Cav," Artemis rebutted.

"I don't understand the premise of that game!" Skids protested. He stood, crossing the room. He was resisting something; a song caught in his head.

"Apply cold water to burn," Trailcutter chuckled.

"How someone who mastered a lifetime of metallikato in less than a megacycle have difficulty coordinating a silly Earth game..." Artemis allowed the thought to trail off.

"What happened to Red?" Hound had taken Skids' spot. "Rumour's going around that he's been boxed. Something about his spark giving out or something."

"He seemed fine mid-day," Artemis shrugged. "We wasn't too keen on me and 'Cutter being on the giggling side when he called us in to investigate some missing fuel cells."

"We don't giggle," Trailcutter reminded.

"We were chuckling higher-pitched than normal," Artemis reminded. They were doing a good job keeping what they knew quiet.

"I also heard Magnus was taking over until — if — Red gets back on his feet," Hound added.

That, they did not know. "He's going to run out of room on his door for his title," Trailcutter jested.

"And there goes the sneaking of nips on duty," Artemis grumbled. "Might as well move our habs to the brig."

"More likely he's going to kick you off detail," Trailcutter pointed out. "Can't fraternise with your direct subordinates."

"No worries; we got into a spat this afternoon." Artemis crossed her arms over her chest with a melodramatic huff. "And seriously guys? We had one the-end-of-the-universe snog thirteen stels ago that stemmed from me losing an argument."

"For him, I'd imagine that's pretty darn intimate," Hoist observed.

"Besides," Trailcutter smirked, "you do care for him. And vice versa."

"Either that or he figures my existence with the Autobots is a monstrous legal loophole not worth tangling with."

"Hence the optic twitch every time you cross his path," Hound stated.

"Hey, Hound," Trailcutter initiated, "what's crystek ore?"

"Superdense crystalline ore from Master, virtually unbreakable and difficult to forge. Why do you ask?"

Hoist and Trailcutter shared a guess. "Art's cranial plating," they stated in unison.

"We'll run with that," Artemis crossed her arms over her chest.

Rodimus briefed — debriefing was explained to him on the fly by a not-so-inconspicuous Skids — the crew on the situation: A Decepticon base was located on the surface of the planet, harvesting energon from surface mines. The locals, unable to defend against a technologically superior invading force, petitioned for help, a distress signal intercepted by the _Lost Light_. As calculated by Mainframe from information compiled, there was evidence to believe these Decepticons may be connected to the disappearance of the Circle of Light from Theophany. Plan was simple: go in, clean up the 'Cons, liberate the natives, return home —

" — and get fendered for a job well done," Artemis muttered, sharing a bro-fist with Trailcutter.

Followed it up by calling out the squadron leaders and their duties: Artemis had the Heavies; Perceptor led the snipers. Drift was in charge of Melee, and First Aid, Medic. Trailcutter was tapped for heading Engineers; he flicked his gaze to Artemis with an arched brow.

"Hoist and Hound; Dipstick'll be a benefit too — I've seen him work. Anyone else who can dig a trench or build a scaffolding in less than ten cycles. Give us a place to bring the wounded." She stood, clapping his shoulder.

"I know who to call up, but — "

"What, you don't think you could lead it?" She granted him a reassuring grin, unhitching Serendipity and slinging the shotgun onto her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Get out there and let's save some lives, yeah?"

Raising her voice, she shouted, "First wave, with me! We’re the clear-cutting the way for the second and third waves. This is a rescue mission, so confirm your shots! You see a field medic without cover, or a fallen ‘Bot, you cover them, but our number one objective: hit them hard, hit them fast, and —"

"Wreck and rule! Whooooo!" Whirl cried, pumping his claws in the air.

Kicking up a discarded engex can from the shuttle floor, she caught it, then hurled the projectile at the single-opticked ex-Wrecker.

It bounced off his head with a clang. "OW!" he exclaimed, more out of surprise than pain.

 

*

 

Things did not go as planned.

 

*

The Battery  
Temptoria  
Now

Artemis had banked on Magnus reining in Rodimus for tactics; likely that advice went in one audio receptor and out the other. That was not her problem now; Magnus could handle it. She had her squad to mind; she trusted Perceptor to keep Cav safe; trusted Trailcutter to keep the sappers and medics covered. Mind on the mission.

Rejoining the Autobots taught her that she was a melee-first fighter; swinging a hammer became second nature, and Brainstorm's sledge did not disappoint. Within thirty cycles, her squadron was slapping irons on surrenders. A couple of times she had to yell at Whirl to stop playing with his victims, but overall, with all the clusterfrag on their end, morale broke for the outpost Decepticons. No fatalities, but there were casualties — too many, in her opinion.

An explosion nearby kicked up debris and shattered her right audio receptor's mechanisms. Fighting the ringing and feedback, she grabbed two 'Cons' bindings — Bulletbike, who took the sledgehammer to the chest when he rushed her full speed, and Rage, who while technically fell under the heavies' jurisdiction, was clipped in the knee by a sniper bullet — in each hand and dragged them back to the erected holding pen near the Leading Light.

Someone said something on her right, but it might as well be in the next galaxy; she turned her head to face whoever was talking to her, ready to snap if it was either Drift or Rodimus.

It was Magnus.

"Not impressed, soldier," she admitted, keeping her voice low. He said nothing, but by his expression, the feeling was mutual. "Some of these 'bots shouldn't have put boots to the ground."

"Pink alchemy," Magnus stated in his neutral tone; he was fighting to contain his disgust. "The Decepticons were using organics to process energon. They were desperate for fuel — "

" — but not quite ready to go to cannibalism," Artemis finished.

Someone was shouting; she was unable to make out the words. Instead she took the cue from Magnus and followed his lead, bolting to the cleanup, where Tailgate was screaming.

 

*

 

It did not go well at all.

 

 

NEXT CHAPTER: Haunted when the Minutes Drag

 


End file.
